"You didn't ask why I did it, you asked for my side of the story. Whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean," Kavinsky said, voice sharp and acidic, because pushing was easier, was safer. He'd been left with the abundant clarity of his situation, and all this was doing was driving home, again, how he'd cut himself out of this picture.

"Newt already told you what happened, so you already know what happened."

Al was reaching for him, and it took Kavinsky a second to realize he'd seen the scratches. He tucked his arm back behind him, frowning.

"What do you want, Al?"